Play On Read Free

blue Crocs, and they looked like they had been worn for a while.  He seemed approachable but firm, and the way his small mouth moved as he replied to whatever Emma’s father said seemed to show the seriousness of the topic.
    Normally, Emma would put in her iPod, grab a hot dog and at least two bags of chips, before heading off in order to eat.  It wasn’t as though she would blatantly avoid anyone associated with hockey, but she simply didn’t care, and as such, didn’t want to waste her time faking smiles and forcing conversation with people she was certain would forget her name moments after she exited the conversation or would only remember her as her father’s daughter.  However, she had heard numerous rumors from her father about something happening to the owner of the Gulls, Ken Brown, and considering that she couldn’t place him here, she wondered whether or not there was any truth to them.  Death?  A heart attack?  Isolation?  Dementia?  Murder?
    Biting her lower lip, Emma threw the now-empty paper plate into a nearby metal garbage can before subtly making her way over to her father and Henry.  She didn’t want to interrupt the flow of their conversation, especially since she wanted to overhear just what was being said, but she needed to get closer in proximity to them in order to actually hear the two.  Of course, she knew that if she asked her father later what was being discussed, he would tell her.  They had an easy, open relationship, and besides the typical subjects that were normally kept private by twenty-two year old women from their fathers, they talked about everything.  But this gave her something to do while here, to occupy her mind with rather than everything else she would rather be doing.
    “…just don’t understand why someone would do something like that to Ken,” her father murmured, shaking his head. 
    Emma could tell her father was sincere in his statement.  In fact, she remembered that he and Ken would share dialogues at these events about the Gulls.  Her father liked him, and even more than that, respected him.  For Emma, this said a lot because her father didn’t respect many people.
    Henry shrugged his shoulders, and Emma could see sadness clearly written in his grey irises.  Which was weird, because in the six years that Henry was the coach of the Gulls, she’d never actually seen him sad.  Upset?  Yes.  Mad?  Yes.  Excited, happy?  Yes.  Strict, firm?  Yes.  But sad?  No.  Not even when his team didn’t make the playoffs.
    This couldn’t be good in relation to Ken.
    “Well, nothing’s definitive yet,” Henry said.  His voice was low and gravelly, key in barking out plays and formations and other hockey-related things to his player.  But in normal conversation, especially when expressing sympathy, it was almost off, as though his voice wasn’t made to express calm emotions.  “But Seraphina did mention a bump on the back of his head and bruises around his throat.  Jesus, I can’t even imagine what it must be like for her, having walked in on that mess.”
    “She found the body?” Emma’s father asked.  His thick brow pushed together, his rich brown eyes Emma inherited from him pooling in concern.
    Henry nodded, allowing a sigh to slip through his flared nostrils.  Emma watched as he looked away from her father and focused on the smooth horizon of the deep, blue Pacific Ocean.  The light sky contrasted the difference between the same color, with puffy white clouds blotting out patches of blue in the sky in order give people something else to look at besides its vastness.
    “Jesus,” her father echoed.  He, too, shook his head and averted his eyes, but instead of looking out at the sparkling water, he looked down at the sand currently slipped between his toes.  “And they don’t know if it’s…”
    Emma glanced over at her father, surprised that he couldn’t say the word murder in this context.  He was used to defending